IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


// 


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Vu 


1.0 


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11.25 


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Sciences 
Corporation 


23  west  MAIN  STRUT 

WUSTIR.N.Y.  MSN 

(716)  ■72-4S03 


V 


iV 


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i\ 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notaa/Notes  tachniquaa  at  bibliographiquaa 


Tha  Inatituta  haa  attamptad  to  obtain  tha  baat 
original  copy  availabia  for  filming.  Faaturaa  of  thia 
copy  which  may  ba  bibliographically  uniqua, 
which  may  altar  any  of  tha  imagaa  in  tha 
reproduction,  or  which  may  aignificantiy  change 
the  uaual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


D 


n 


D 
D 


D 


m 


Coloured  covera/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covera  damaged/ 


Couverture  endommagte 


Covera  reatored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  reataurte  at/ou  pellicui6e 


I    ~|    Cover  title  miaaing/ 


Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


I     I    Coloured  mapa/ 


Cartea  gAographiquaa  en  couleur 


□    Coloured  inic  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  blacic)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

I      I   Coloured  plataa  and/or  iiiuatrationa/ 


Planchea  at/ou  illuttrationa  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Rail*  avac  d'autrea  documanta 

Tight  binding  may  cauae  ahadowa  or  diatortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  aerrAe  peut  cauaar  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
diatortion  la  long  de  la  marge  int4rieure 

Blank  laavaa  added  during  reatoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  poaaibia,  theae 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  cartainea  pagea  blanchea  ajoutiaa 
lore  d'una  restauration  apparaiaaent  dana  la  texte. 
maia.  loraqua  cela  Atait  poaaibia,  caa  pagea  n'ont 
pas  At  A  filmiaa. 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentairea  supplimantairas: 


Various  pagingi. 


L'Inatitut  a  microfilm^  la  melileur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  M  poaaibia  da  ae  procurer.  Lea  d^taiia 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  aont  peut-Atre  uniquea  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dana  la  mAthoda  normale  de  filmage 
aont  indiqute  ci-decaoua. 


□   Coloured  pagea/ 
Pagea  de  couleur 

□   Pagea  damaged/ 
Pagea  andommagiaa 

□   Pagea  reatored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pagea  raataur^aa  at/ou  peilicuitea 


• 


D 


This  item  ia  filmed  at  tha  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  fiimA  au  taux  da  reduction  indiqui  ci-dassous. 


Pagea  diacoiourad,  atainad  or  foxed/ 
Pagea  dtcolorAaa,  tachattea  ou  piqutea 


□   Pagea  detached/ 
Pagea  ditachtea 

EShowthrough/ 
Tranaparence 

I      I   Quality  of  print  variea/ 


Quality  inigala  de  i'impreas^on 

Includaa  supplementary  material/ 
Comprand  du  materiel  auppKlmentaira 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Mition  diaponibie 


Pagea  wholly  or  partially  obacured  by  errata 
alipa,  tiaauea,  etc.,  have  been  ref limed  to 
enaure  the  beat  poaaibia  image/ 
Lea  pagea  totalamenc  ou  partiellement 
obacurciaa  par  un  fauillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc..  ont  6t*  filmAea  A  nouveau  de  fa9on  i 
obtanir  la  meilleure  image  poaaibia. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

28X 

»X 

12X 

16X 

aox 

a4x 

28X 

32X 

The  c( 
to  the 


The  in 
poaaib 
of  the 
fiimin! 


Origin 
begini 
the  lat 
sion,  ( 
other 
firat  p 
sion.  1 
or  illu! 


Theia 
shall  ( 
TINUE 
which 

IVIapa, 
differt 
entirel 
begini 
right  i 
requir 
methc 


»laire 
IS  details 
quet  du 
nt  modifier 
(iger  una 
la  fiimaga 


The  copy  fiimed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanlcs 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Nationai  Library  of  Canada 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


L'exemplaire  f ilm6  fut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
g6n6rosit6  de: 

Bibliothdque  nationale  du  Canada 


Las  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet6  de  l'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformit6  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


d/ 
lutes 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sont  film6s  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film6s  en  commenpant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  derniire  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  —^-(meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"}, or  the  symbol  y  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  —^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE ',  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN". 


aire 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  bo 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  ae 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
fiimds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichd,  il  est  film6  A  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n6cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m6thode. 


by  errata 
ned  to 

lent 

une  pelure, 

fapon  i 


1 

2 

3 

32X 


1 

2 

3 

4 

6 

6 

1 


THE 


DEATH    OF    CENONE, 
AKBAR'S    DREAM, 


r. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


'tii^  iM.'o^-t-i 


«^ 


.^>mk 


Dl 


8i.b 


THE 


DEATH   OF  CENONE, 

AKBAR^S   DREAM, 


AND   OTHER    POEMS 


BY 


ALFRED 
LORD    TENNYSON 


I'OET   I.AUREATF. 


MACMILLAN    AND    CO. 

AND     LONDON 
TORONTO:  THE  WILLIAMSON  BOOK  CO. 

1892 

A//  rights  reserved 


V 


Ly 


Copyright,  1892, 
By   MACMILLAN   AND   CO. 


Set  up  and  elecirotyped  October,  i8q2. 
Large  faper  edition  printed  October,  iSq2. 


\* 


Typography  by  J.  S.  Cushing  &  Co.,  Boston,  U.S.A. 
Presswork  by  Berwick  &  Smith,  Boston,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


June  Bracken  and  Hi^ather 
To  THE  Master  of  Balliol 
The  Death  of  CEnone  . 
St.  Telemachus 


Akbar's  Dream 

The  Bandit's  Death 

The  Church-warden  and  the  Curate 

Charity   .... 


Kapioiani 

The  Dawn 

The  Making  of  Man 

The  Dreamer 

Mechanophilus 

Riflemen  form! 


PAGE 

I 
3 

5 
15 

23 

47 

55 

67 

77 
81 

85 

87 
90 

93 


3''*' ^ 


VI 


CONTENTS 


The  Tourney  .... 

The  Eee  and  the  Flower     . 

The  Wanderer 

Poets  and  Critics  . 

A  Voice  spake  out  of  the  Skies 

Doubt  and  Prayer 

Faith 

The  Silent  Voices 
God  and  the  Universe 
The  Death  of  the  Duke  of  Ci 
DALE 


ARENCE    AND    AVON- 


PACE 

96 

98 

100 

102 

104 

107 
109 

no 
.     112 


JUNE  BRACKEN  AND  HEATHER 


To 


There  on  the  top  of  the  down, 
The   wild    heather   round    me    and    over    me   June's 
high  bhie, 


When   I   look'd   at   the   bracken  so  b 


and  the 


heather  so  brown, 
I    thought    to    myself   I    would    offer    this    book    to 


you, 


This,  and  my  love  together. 


To  you  that  are  seventy-seven, 


JUNE  BRACKEN  AND   HEATHER 


With  a  faith  as  clear   as   the    heights   of  the   June- 
blue  heaven, 
And  a  fancy  as  summer-new 
As  the   green   of  the    bracken   amid   the   gloom   of 


m 
« 


the  heather. 


TO  THE  MASTER  OF  BALLIOL 


Dear  Master  in  our  classic  town, 
You,  loved  by  all  the  younger  gown 

There  at  Balliol, 
Lay  your  Plato  for  one  minute  down. 


II 


And  read  a  Grecian  tale  re-told, 
Which,  cast  in  later  Grecian  mould, 

Quintus  Calaber 
Somewhat  lazily  handled  of  old ; 


TO   THE  MASTER   OF  BALLIOL 


III 


And  on  this  white  midwinter  day  — 
For  have  the  far-off  hymns  of  May, 

All  her  melodies, 
All  her  harmonies  echo'd  away  ?  — 


IV 


To'H.       '     ore  you  turn  again 

1.    tiioughts  that  lift  the  soul  of  men. 

Hear  my  cataract's 
Downward  thunder  in  hollow  and  glen, 


Till,  led  by  dream  and  vague  desire, 
The  woman,  gliding  toward  the  pyre. 


Find  her  warrior 


Stark  and  dark  in  his  funeral  fire. 


LLIOL 


day  — 
f  May, 


ly?-^ 


of  men, 


THE   DEATH   OF  CENONE 


and  glen, 


desire, 
le  pyre. 


fire. 


THE   DEATH   OF  CENONE 


CEnone  sat  within  the  cave  from  out 


Whose  ivy-matted  mouth  she  used  to  gaze 
Down  at  the  Troad ;  but  the  goodly  view 
Was  now  one  blank,  and  all  the  serpent  vines 
Which  on  the  touch  of  heavenly  feet  had  risen, 
And  gliding  thro'  the  branches  overbower'd 
The  naked  Three,  were  wither'd  long  ago, 
And  thro'  the  sunless  winter  morning-mist 
In  silence  wept  upon  the  flowerless  earth. 

And   while   she   stared   at  those   dead   cords   that 


ran 


Copyrijiht,  i8y«,  by  Mai.inillaii  &  Co.  7 


s 


THE  DEATH  OF  (EN ONE 


% 


f 


It 


Dark  thro'  the  mist,  and  Unking  tree  to  tree, 
But  once  were  gayer  than  a  dawning  sky 
With  many  a  pendent  bell  and  fragrant  star, 
Her  Past  became  her  Present,  and  she  saw 
Him,  climbing  toward  her  with  the  golden  fruit, 
Him,  happy  to  be  chosen  Judge  of  Gods, 
Her  husband  in  the  flush  of  youth  and  dawn, 
Paris,  himself  as  beauteous  as  a  God. 

Anon  from  out  the  long  ravine  below, 
She  heard  a  wailing  cry,  that  seem'd  at  first 
Thin  as  the  batlike  shrillings  of  the  Dead 
When  driven  to  Hades,  but,  in  coming  near. 
Across  the  downward  thunder  of  the  brook 
Sounded  HEnone'-;   and  on  a  sudden  he, 
Paris,  no  longer  beauteous  as  a  God, 
Struck  by  a  poison'd  arrow  in  the  fight. 
Lame,  crooked,  reeling,  livid,  thro'  the  mist 


THE  DEATH  OF  (ENONE 


vv: 


Rose,  like  the  wraith  of  his  dead  self,  and  moan'd 

*  Q^none,  my  (Enone,  while  we  dwelt 
Together  in  this  valley  —  hai)py  then  — 
Too  happy  had  I  died  within  thine  arms, 
Before  the  feud  of  Gods  had  marr'd  our  peace, 
And  sunder'd  each  from  each.     I  am  dying  now 
Pierced    by    a    poison'd    dart.      Save    me.      Thou 

knowest, 
Taught  by  some  God,  whatever  herb  or  balm 
May  clear  the  blood  from  poison,  and  thy  fame 
Is  blown  thro'  all  the  Troad,  and  to  thee 


The  shepherd  brings  his  adder-bitten  lamb, 
The  wounded  warrior  climbs  from  Troy  to  thee. 
My  life  and  death  are  in  thy  hand.     The  Gods 
Avenge  on  stony  hearts  a  fruitless  prayer 
For  pity.     Let  me  owe  my  life  to  thee. 
I  wrought  thee  bitter  wrong,  but  thou  forgive. 


^f 


.1 


Ir 


lO 


T//E  DEATH  OF  (ENONE 


Forget  it.     Man  is  but  the  slave  of  Fate. 
(Enone,  by  thy  love  which  once  was  mine, 
Help,  heal  me.     I  am  poison'd  to  the  heart.' 
*  And  I  to  mine '  she  said  '  Adulterer, 


Go  back  to  thine  adulteress  and  die  ! 


j-.i 


t* 


I 
I 


He  groan'd,  he  turn'd,  and  in  the  mist  at  once 
Became  a  shadow,  sank  and  disappear'd. 
But,  ere  the  mountain  rolls  into  the  plain. 
Fell  headlong  dead ;   and  of  the  shepherds  one 
Their  oldest,  and  the  same  wr«o  first  had  found 
Paris,  a  naked  babe,  among  the  woods 
Of  Ida,  following  lighted  on  him  there. 
And  shouted,  and  the  shepherds  heard  and  came. 

One    raised   the   Prince,  one   sleek'd   the   squalid 
hair, 
One  kiss'd  his  hand,  another  closed  his  eyes, 
And  then,  remembering  the  gay  playmate  rear'd 


THE  DBA  TH  OF  (EN ONE 


II 


Among  them,  and  forgetful  of  the  man, 
Whose  crime  had  half  unpeopled  Ilion,  these 
All  that  day  long  labour'd,  hewing  the  pines, 
And  built  their  shepherd-prince  a  funeral  pile ; 
And,  while  the  star  of  eve  was  drawing  light 
From  the  dead  sun,  kindled  the  pyre,  and  all 
Stood  round  it,  hush'd,  or  calling  on  his  name. 
But  when  the  white  fog  vanish'd  like  a  ghost 
Before  the  day,  and  every  topmost  pine 
Spired  into  bluest  heaven,  still  in  her  cave, 
Amazed,  and  ever  seeming  stared  upon 
By  ghastlier  than  the  Gorgon  head,  a  face, — 
His  face  deform'd  by  lurid  blotch  and  blain  — 
There,  like  a  creature  frozen  to  the  heart 
Beyond  all  hope  of  warmth,  CEnone  sat 
Nc'-  moving,  till  in  front  of  that  ravine 
Which  drowsed  in  gloom,  self-darkeu'd  from  the  west, 


.-^s.it^-jiwa.'jr 


<^ 


^1 


12 


THE  DEATH  OF  (EN ONE 


i 


i 

i 


M 


The  sunset  blazed  along  the  wall  of  Troy. 

Then   her  head   sank,   she    slept,   and    thro'    her 
dream 
A  ghostly  murmur  floated,  'Come  to  me, 
^Enone  !    I  can  wrong  thee  now  no  more, 
(Enone,  my  CFnone,*  and  the  dream 
Wail'd  in  her,  when  she  woke  beneath  the  stars. 

What  star  could  burn  so  low?   not  Ilion  yet. 
What  light  was  there?      She  rose  and  slowly  down, 
By  the  long  torrent's  ever-deepen'd  roar. 
Paced,  following,  as  in  trance,  the  silent  cry. 
She  waked  a  bird  of  prey  that  scream'd  and  past ; 
She  roused  a  snake  that  hissing  writhed  away ; 
A  panther  sprang  across  her  path,  she  heard 
The  shriek  of  some  lost  life  among  the  pines, 
But  when  she  gain'd  the  broader  vale,  and  saw 
The  ring  of  faces  redden'd  by  the  flames 


THE  DEATH  OF  CENONE 


n 


Enfolding  tliat  dark  body  which  had  lain 

Of  old  in  her  embrace,  paused  —  and  then  ask'd 

Falteringly,  *  Who  lies  on  yonder  pyre  ? ' 

But  every  man  was  mute  for  reverence. 

Then  moving  quickly  forward  till  the  heat 

Smote  on  her  brow,  she  lifted  up  a  voice 

Of  shrill  command,  •  Who  burns  upon  the  pyre  ? ' 

Whereon  their  oldest  and  their  boldest  said, 

'  He,   whom    thou   wouldst    not    heal ! '    and   all   at 

once 
The  morning  light  of  happy  marriage  broke 
Thro'  all  the  clouded  years  of  widowhood. 
And  muffling  up  her  comely  head,  and  crying 
•  Husband  ! '   she  leapt  upon  the  funeral  pile, 
And  mixt  herself  with  him  and  past  in  fire. 


Mi^j^iAmm.-im^i*^  ** 


ST.    TELEMACHUS 


. 


u 


't— 


ST.   TELEMACHUS 


Had  the  fierce  ashes  of  some  fiery  peak 
Been  hiirl'd  so  high  they  ranged  about  the  globe 
For  day  by  day,  thro'  many  a  blood-red  eve, 
In  that  four-hundredth  summer  after  Christ, 
The  wrathful  sunset  glared  against  a  cross 
Rear'd  on  the  tumbled  ruins  of  an  old  fane 
No  longer  sacred  to  the  Sun,  and  flamed 
On  one  huge  slope  beyond,  where  in  his  cave 
The  man,  whose  pious  hand  had  built  the  cross, 
A  man  who  never  changed  a  word  with  men, 
Fasted  and  pray'd,  Telemachus  the  Saint. 

Copyright,  1892,  by  Maciiiillan  &  Co.  J17 


ii 


11 


i8 


ST.    TELEMACHUS 


Eve  after  eve  that  haggard  anchorite 
Would  haunt  the  desolated  fane,  and  there 
Gaze  at  the  ruin,  often  mutter  low 
*  Vicisti  Galilaee  ' ;  louder  again. 
Spurning  a  shatter'd  fragment  of  the  God, 
'  Vicisti  Galilaee  ! '  but  —  when  now 
Bathed  in  that  lurid  crimson  —  ask'd  *  Is  earth 
On  fire  to  the  West?  or  is  the  Demon -god 
W^roth  at  his  fall  ? '  and  heard  an  answer  *  Wake 
Thou  deedless  dreamer,  lazying  out  a  life 
Of  self-suppression,  not  of  selfless  love.' 
And  once  a  flight  of  shadowy  fighters  crost 
The  disk,  and  once,  he  thought,  a  shape  with 

wings 
Game  sweeping  by  him,  and  pointed  to  the  West, 
And  at  his  ear  he  heard  a  whisper  *  Rome  ' 
And  in  his  heart  he  cried  '  The  call  of  God  ! ' 


ST.    TELEMACHUS 


19 


And  call'd  arose,  and,  slowly  plunging  down 
Thro'  that  disastrous  glory,  set  his  face 
By  waste  and  field  and  town  of  alien  tongue, 
Following  a  hundreei  sunsets,  and  the  sphere 
Of  westward-wheeling  stars ;   and  every  dawn 


Struck  from  him  his  own  shadow  on  to  Rome. 


Foot-sore,  way-worn,  at  length  he  touch'd  his  goal, 
The  Christian  city.     All  her  splendour  fail'd 
To  lure  those  eyes  that  only  yearn'd  to  see, 
Fleeting  betwixt  her  coluran'd  palace-walls. 
The  shape  with  wings.     Anon  there  past  a  crowd 
With  shameless  laughter,  Pagan  oath,  and  jest. 
Hard  Romans  brawling  of  their  monstrous  games ; 
He,  all  but  deaf  thro'  age  and  weariness, 
And  muttering  to  himself  'The  call  of  (iod' 
And  borne  along  by  that  full  stream  of  men, 
IJke  some  old  wreck  on  some  indrawing  sea, 


20 


ST.    TELEMACHUS 


\S 


Gain'd  their  huge  Colosseum.     The  caged  beast 
Yell'd,  as  he  yell'd  of  yore  for  Christian  blood. 
Three  slaves  were  trailing  a  dead  lion  away, 
One,  a  dead  man.      He  stumbled  in,  and  sat 
Blinded ;    but  when  the  momentary  gloom, 
Made  by  the  noonday  blaze  without,  had  left 
His  aged  eyes,  he  raised  them,  and  beheld 
A  blood-red  awning  waver  overhead, 
The  dust  send  up  a  steam  of  human  blood. 
The  gladiators  moving  toward  their  fight, 
And  eighty  thousand  Christian  faces  watch 
Man   murder   man.      A  sudden   strength   from 

heaven, 
As  some  great  shock  may  wake  a  palsied  limb, 
Turn'd  him  again  to  boy,  for  up  he  sprang, 
And  glided  lightly  down  the  stairs,  and  o'er 


The  barrier  that  divided  beast  from  man 


S7\    TELEMACHUS 


21 


Mi 


Slipt,  and  ran  on,  and  flung  himself  between 
The  gladiatorial  swords,  and  call'd  '  F'orbear 
In  the  great  name  of  Him  who  died  for  men, 
Christ  Jesus  !  '     For  one  moment  afterward 
A  silence  follow'd  as  of  death,  and  then 
A  hiss  as  from  a  wilderness  of  snakes, 
Then  one  deep  roar  as  of  a  breaking  sea, 


And    then    a    shower    of    stones    that    stoned    him 


dead, 


And  then  once  more  a  silence  as  of  death. 


His  dream  became  a  deed  that  woke  the  world. 


For  while  the  frantic  rabble  in  half-amaze 


Stared  at  him  dead,  thro'  all  the  nobler  hearts 


In  that  vast  Oval  ran  a  shudder  of  shame. 


The  Baths,  the  Forum  gabbled  of  his  death, 
And  preachers  linger'd  o'er  his  dying  words, 


Which  would  not  die,  but  echo'd  on  to  reach 


■r 


22 


ST.    TELEMACHUS 


'I 


Honorius,  till  he  heard  them,  and  decreed 

That  Rome  no  more  should  wallow  in  this  old  lust 

Of  Paganism,  and  make  her  festal  hour 

Dark  with  the  blood  of  man  who  murder'd  man. 


h: 


!M 


(For  Honorius,  who  succeeded  to  the  sovereignty  over 
Europe,  supprest  the  gladiatorial  combats  practised  of  old 
in  Rome,  on  occasion  of  the  following  event.  There  was 
one  Telemachus,  embracing  the  ascetic  mode  of  life,  who 
setting  oat  from  the  East  and  arriving  at  Rome  for  this 
very  purpose,  while  that  accursed  spectacle  was  being  per- 
formed, entered  himself  the  circus,  and  descending  into  the 
arena,  attempted  to  hold  back  those  who  wielded  deadly 
weapons  against  each  other.  The  spectators  of  the  murder- 
ous fray,  possest  with  the  drunken  glee  of  the  demon  who 
delights  in  such  bloodshed,  stoned  to  death  the  preacher  of 
peace.  The  admirable  Emperor  learning  this  put  a  stop  to 
that  evil  exhibition.  —  Theodoret's  Ecclesiastical  History^ 


\\ 


Id  lust 


lan. 


ity   over 
of  old 
ere   was 
fe,   who 
for   this 
ng   per- 
into  the 
.    deadly 
murder- 
ion  who 
acher  of 
stop  to 


AKBAR'S    DREAM 


AKBAR'S   DREAM 


An    Inscription   by   Abul   Fazl   for   a   Temple   in 


Kashmir  (Blochmann  xxxii.) 


O  God  in  every  temple  1  see  people  that  see  thee, 
and  in  every  language  I  hear  spoken,  people  praise  thee. 

Polytheism  and  Isldm  feel  after  thee. 

Each  religion  says,  '  Thou  art  one,  without  equal.' 

If  it  be  a  mosque  people  murmur  the  holy  prayer,  and 
if  it  be  a  Christian  Church,  people  ring  the  bell  from 
love  to  Thee. 

Sometimes  I  frequent  the  Christian  cloister,  and  some- 
times the  mosque. 

But  it  is  thou  whom  I  search  from  temple  to  temple. 

Thy  elect  have  no  dealings  with  either  heresy  or 
orthodoxy ;  for  neither  of  them  stands  behind  the  screen 
of  thy  truth. 

Heresy  to  the  heretic,  and  religion  to  the  orthodox, 

Copyright,  1892,  by  Macmillan  &  Co.  25 


26 


AK BAR'S  DREAM 


A 


I       \ 


:  i 


'   \ 


\ 


\ 


But  the  dust  of  the  rose-petal  belongs  to  the  heart  of 
the  perfume  seller. 

Akbar  and  Abul  Fazl  before  the  palace  at 
Futehpur-Sikri  at  night. 

'  Light  of  the  nations '  ask'd  his  Chronicler 

Of  Akbar  '  what  has  darken'd  thee  to-night  ? ' 

Then,  after  one  quick  glance  upon  the  stars, 

And  turning  slowly  toward  him,  Akbar  said 

'  The  shadow  of  a  dream  —  an  idle  one 

It  may  be.     Still  I  raised  my  heart  to  heaven, 

I  pray'd  against  the  dream.     To  pray,  to  do  — 

To  pray,  to  do  according  to  the  prayer, 

Are,  both,  to  worship  Alia,  but  the  prayers. 

That  have  no  successor  in  deed,  are  faint 

And  pale  in  Alla's  eyes,  fair  mothers  they 

Dying  in  childbirth  of  dead  sons.     I  vow'd 

Whate'er  my  dreams,  I  still  would  do  the  right 


I 


A K" BAR'S  DREAM 


27 


Thro'  all  the  vast  dominion  which  a  sword, 
That  only  conquers  men  to  conquer  peace, 


Has  won  me.     Alia  be  my  guide  1 


But  come, 


My  noble  friend,  my  faithful  counsellor. 

Sit  by  my  side.     While  thou  art  one  with  me, 

I  seem  no  longer  like  a  lonely  man 

In  the  king's  garden,  gathering  here  and  thtre 

From  each  fair  plant  the  blossom  choicest-grown 

To  wreathe  a  crown  not  only  for  the  king 

But  in  due  time  for  every  Mussulman, 

Brahmin,  and  Buddhist,  Christian,  and  Parsee, 

Thro'  all  the  warring  world  of  Hindustan. 

Well  spake  thy  brother  in  his  hymn  to  heaven 
"  Thy  glory  baffles  wisdom.     All  the  tracks 
Of  science  making  toward  Thy  Perfectness 
Are  blinding  desert  sand ;  we  scarce  can  spell 


E4  i 

i 


i 


i\ 


'\ 


li 


dS 


AKBAK'S  DREAM 


The  Alif  of  Thine  Al])habet  of  Love." 

He    knows     Himself,    men    nor    themselves    nor 
Him, 
For  every  sphnter'd  fraction  of  a  sect 
Will  clamour  ''  /  am  on  the  Perfect  Way, 


All  else  is  to  perdition." 


Shall  the  rose 


Cry  to  the  lotus  "No  flower  thou"?  the  palm    ' 
Call  to  the  cypress  *' I  alone  am  fair"? 
The  mango  spurn  the  melon  at  his  foot? 
"  Mine  is  the  one  fruit  Alia  made  for  man." 

Look  how  the  living  pulse  of  Alia  beats 
Thro'  all  His  world.     If  every  single  star 
Should  shriek  its  claim  "I  only  am  in  heaven" 
Why  that  were  such  sphere-music  as  the  Greek 
Had  hardly  dream'd  of.     There  is  light  in  ail. 
And  light,  with  more  or  less  of  shade,  in  all 


% 


M 


Th 
N(i 


A 
An 


A  KB  A IV  S  DREAM  39 


Man-modes  of  worship;  but  our  Ulama, 
Who  "sitting  on  green  sofas  contemplate 
The  torment  of  the  damn'd  "  already,  these 
Are  like  wild  brutes  new-caged  —  the  narrower 
The  cage,  the  more  their  fury.     Me  they  front 
With  sullen  brows.     What  wonder !     I  decreed 
That  even  the  dog  was  clean,  that  men  may  taste 
Swine-flesh,  drink  wine ;  they  know  too  that  when- 


e  er 


In  our  free  Hall,  where  each  philosophy 

Aftd  mood  of  faith  may  hold   its  own,  they  blurt 

Their  furious  formalisms,  I  but  hear 


The  clash  of  tides  that  meet  in  narrow  seas. 


Not  the  Great  Voice  not  the  true  Deep. 


To  drive 


A  people  from  their  ancient  fold  of  Faith, 
And  wall  them  up  perforce  in  mine  —  unwise, 


30 


AKBAK'S   DREAM 


i  I 


ii 


Unkinglike  ;  —  and  the  morning  of  my  reign 

Was  redden'd  by  that  cloud  of  shame  when  I  .  .  . 

I  hate  the  rancour  of  their  castes  and  creeds, 
I  let  men  worship  as  they  will,  I  reap 
No  revenue  from  the  field  of  unbelief. 
I  cull  from  every  faith  and  race  the  best 
And  bravest  soul  for  counsellor  and  friend. 
I  loathe  the  very  name  of  infidel. 
I  stagger  at  the  Koran  and  the  sword. 
I  shudder  at  the  Christian  and  the  stake ; 
Yet  "Alia,"  says  their  sacred  book,  "is  Love,"   ' 
And  when  the  Goan  Padre  quoting  Him, 
Issa  Ben  Mariam,  his  own  prophet,  cried 
"  Love  one  another  little  ones  "  and  "  bless  " 
Whom?  even  "your  persecutors"!  there  methought 
The  cloud  was  rifted  by  a  purer  gleam 
Than  glances  from  the  sun  of  our  Islam. 


AKBAR'S   DREAM 


31 


And  thou  rememberest  what  a  fury  shook 
Those  pillars  of  a  moulder'd  faith,  when  he, 
That  other,  prophet  of  their  fall,  proclaimed 
His  Master  as  **  the  Sun  of  Righteousness," 
Yea,  Alia  here  on  earth,  who  caught  and  held 
His  people  by  the  bridle-rein  of  Truth. 

What  art  thou  saying?    "And  was  not  Alia  call'd 


In  old  Iran  the  Sun  of  Love?   and  Love 


The  net  of  truth?" 


A  voice  from  old  Iran  ! 


Nay,  but  I  know  it  —  his,  the  hoary  Sheik, 
On  whom  the  women  shrieking  "Atheist"  flung 
Filth  from  the  roof,  the  mystic  melodist 
W^ho  all  but  lost  himself  in  Alia,  him 


Ab{i  Said 


a  sun  but  dimlv  seen 


Here,  till  the  mortal  morning  mists  of  earth 


:1; 


32 


AKBAK'S   DREAM 


Fade  in  the  noon  of  heaven,  when  creed  and  race 
Shall  bear  false  witness,  each  of  each,  no  more. 
But  find  their  limits  by  that  larger  light, 
And  overstep  them,  moving  easily 
Thro'  after-ages  in  the  love  of  Truth, 


The  truth  of  Love. 


The  sun,  the  sun  !    they  rail 


At  me  the  Zoroastrian.     Let  the  Sun, 
Who  heats  our  earth  to  yield  us  grain  and  fruit. 
And  laughs  upon  thy  field  as  well  as  mine. 
And  warms  the  blood  of  Shiah  and  Sunnee, 
Symbol  the  Eternal !     Yea  and  may  not  kings 
P^xpress  Him  also  by  their  warmth  of  love 
For  all  they  rule  —  by  equal  law  for  all? 


By  deeds  a  light  to  men? 


But  no  such  light 


■m^;^  I 


Glanced  from  our  Presence  on  tlie  face  of  one, 


AK BAR'S  DREAM 


IZ 


Who  breaking  in  upon  us  yestermorn, 

With  all  the  Hells  a-glare  in  either  eye, 

Yell'd  "hast  thou  brought  us  down  a  new  Koran 

From    heaven?    art   thou   the   Prophet?    canst   thou 

work 
Miracles?"    and  the  wild  horse,  anger,  plunged 
To  fling  me,  and  fail'd.     Miracles  !   no,  not  I 
Nor  he,  nor  any.     I  can  but  lift  the  torch 
Of  Reason  in  the  dusky  cave  of  Life, 
And  gaze  on  this  great  miracle,  the  World, 
Adoring  That  who  made,  and  makes,  and  is. 
And  is  not,  what  I  gaze  on  —  all  else   Form, 
Ritual,  varying  with  the  tribes  of  men. 
Ay    but,    my    friend,    thou    knovvest    1    hold    that 
forms 
Are  needful :    only  let  the  hand  that  rules, 
With  politic  care,  with  utter  gentleness. 


I 


m 


AKBAR'S  DREAM 


Mould  them  for  all  his  people. 


Vi 


And  what  are  furms? 


Fair  garments,  plain  or  rich,  and  fitting  close 
Or  flying  looselier,  warm'd  but  by  the  heart 
Within  them,  moved  but  by  the  living  limb, 
And  cast  aside,  when  old,  for  newer,  —  Forms  ! 
The  Spiritual  in  Nature's  market-place  — 
The  silent  Alphabet-of-heaven-in-man 
Made  vocal  —  banners  blazoning  a  Power 
That  is  not  seen  and  rules  from  far  away  — 
A  silken  cord  let  down  from  Paradise, 
When  fine  Philosophies  would  fail,  to  draw 
The  crowd  from  wallowing  in  the  mire  of  earth, 
And  all  the  more,  when  these  behold  their  Lord, 
Who  shaped  the  forms,  obey  them,  and  himself 
Here  on  this  bank  in  some  way  live  the  life 
Beyond  the  bridge,  and  serve  tliat  Infinite 


} 


AK BAR'S  DREAM 


35 


Within  us,  as  without,  that  All-in-all, 

And  over  all,  the  never-changing  One 

And  ever-changing  Many,  in  praise  of  Whom 

The  Christian  bell,  the  cry  from  off  the  mosque, 

And  vaguer  voices  of  Polytheism 

Make  but  one  music,  harmonising,  "  Pray." 

There  westward  —  under  yon  slow-falling  star. 
The  Christians  own  a  Spiritual  Head  ; 
And  following  thy  true  counsel,  by  thine  aid. 
Myself  am  such  in  our  Islam,  for  no 
Mirage  of  glory,  but  for  power  to  fuse 
My  myriads  into  union  under  one  ; 
To  hunt  the  tiger  of  oppression  out 
I'rom  office  ;    and  to  spread  the  Divine  Faith 
Like  c:alming  oil  on  all  their  stormy  creeds. 


■^ 


^mv 


And  fill  the  hollows  between  wave  and  wave  ; 


To  nurse  my  children  on  the  milk  of  Truth, 


36 


AK BAR'S  DREAM 


( 

1 


And  alchemise  old  hates  into  the  gold 
Of  Love,  and  make  it  current ;    and  beat  back 
The  menacing  poison  of  intolerant  priests, 
Those  cobras  ever  setting  up  their  hoods  — 


One  Alia  !    one  Kali  fa  ! 


Still  —  at  times 


A  doubt,  a  fear,  —  and  yester  afternoon 

I    dream'd,  —  thou    knowest    how    deep    a    well    of 


I 


i 


. 


love 


My  heart  is  for  my  son,  Saleem,  mine  heir,  — 
And  yet  so  wild  and  wayward  that  my  dream  — 
He  glares  askance  at  thee  as  one  of  those 
Who  mix  the  wines  of  heresy  in  the  cup 


Of  counsel  —  so  —  I  pray  thee 


Well,  1  dream'd 


That  stone  by  stone  I  renr'd  a  sacred  fane, 
A  temple,  neither  Pagod,  Mosque,  nor  Church, 


A  KHAR'S  DREAM 


37 


But  loftier,  simpler,  always  open-door'd 
To  every  breath  from  heaven,  and  Truth  and  Peace 
And  Love  and  Justice  came  and  dwelt  therein ; 
But  while  we  stood  rejoicing,  I  and  thou, 
I  heard  a  mocking  laugh  "  the  new  Koran ! " 
And  on  the  sudden,  and  with  a  cry  "  Saleem  " 
Thou,  thou  —  I  saw  thee  fall  before  me,  and  then 
Me  too  the  black-wing'd  Azrael  overcame. 
But  Death  had  ears  and  eyes ;    I  watch'd  my  son, 
And  those  that  follow'd,  loosen,  stone  from  stone. 
All  my  fair  work ;    and  from  the  rr.in  arose 
The  shriek  and  curse  of  trampled  millions,  even 
As  in  the  time  before ;    but  while  I  groan'd. 
From  out  the  sunset  pour'd  an  alien  race. 
Who  fitted  stone  to  stone  again,  and  Truth, 
Peace,  Love  and  Justice  came  and  dwelt  therein, 
Nor  in  the  field  without  were  seen  or  heard 


38 


AK BAR'S  DREAM 


Fire^:  of  Siittee,  nor  wail  of  baby- wife, 

Or  Indian  widow;    and  in  sleep  I  said 

"All  praise  to  Alia  by  whatever  hands 

My  mission  be  accomplish'd  ! "    but  we  hear 

Music  :    our  palace  is  awake,  and  morn 

Has  lifted  the  dark  eyelash  of  thfe  Night 

From  off  the  rosy  cheek  of  waking  Day. 

Our  hymn  to  the  sun.     They  sing  it.     Let  us  go.' 


Hymn 


i 


1 


I 


Once    again    thou   flamest    heavenward,   once   again 


we  see  thee  rise. 


Every   morning   is   thy   birthday  gladdening   human 
hearts  and  eyes. 


AKBAR'S  DREAM 


39 


Every    morning    here    we    greet    it,    bowing 
lowly  down  before  thee, 
Thee    the    Godlike,    thee    the    changeless    in    thine 
ever-changing  skies. 


II 


Shadow-maker,    shadow-slayer,   arrowing    light    from 

clime  to  clime, 
Hear   thy   myriad   laureates    hail   thee    monarch    in 
their  woodland  rhyme. 

Warble    bird,    and    open    flower,  .and,   men, 
below  the  dome  of  azure 
Kneel  adoring  Him  the  Timeless  in  the   flame  that 
measures  Time  ! 


(•! 


i'i' 


'I 


I 


'I 

f 


1 

If   rf 

i 

*1 


NOTES  TO  AKBAR'S  DREAM 

The  great  Mogul  Emperor  Akbar  was  born  October  14,  1542, 
and  died  1605.  At  13  he  succeeded  his  father  Huniayun;  at 
18  he  himself  assumed  the  sole  charge  of  government.  He 
subdued  and  ruled  over  fifteen  large  provinces;  his  empire 
included  all  India  north  of  the  Vindhya  Mountains  —  in  the 
south  of  India  he  was  not  so  successful.  His  tolerance  of 
religions  and  his  abhorrence  of  religious  persecution  put  our 
Tudors  to  shame.  He  invented  a  new  eclectic  religion  by 
which  he  hoped  to  unite  all  creeds,  castes  and  peoples :  and 
his  legislation  was  remarkable  for  vigour,  justice  and  humanity. 

*  77/1'  ^/ory  baffles  wisdom!'     The   Emperor   quotes  from  a 

hymn  to  the  Deity  by  Faizi,  brother  of  Abul  Fazl,  Akbar's  chief 

friend  and  minister,  who  wrote  the  Ain  i  Akbari  (Annals  of 

Akbar).     His  influence  on  his  age  was  immense.     It  may  be 

that  he  and  his  brother  Faizi  led  Akbar's  mind   away  from 
40 


NOTES    TO  AKBAR'S  DREAM 


41 


Islam  and  the  Prophet  —  this  charge  is  brought  against  him 
by  every  Muhammatlan  writer;  but  Abul  Fazl  also  led  his 
sovereign  to  a  true  appreciation  of  his  duties,  and  from 
the  moment  that  he  entered  Court,  the  problem  of  success- 
fully ruling  over  mixed  races,  which  Islam  in  few  other 
countries  had  to  solve,  was  carefully  considered,  and  the 
policy  of  toleration  was  the  result  (Blochmann  xxix.) 

Abul  Fazl  thus  gives  an  account  of  himself  *  The  advice  of 
my  Father  with  difficulty  kept  me  back  from  acts  of  folly; 
my  mind  had  no  rest  and  my  heart  felt  itself  drawn  to  the 
sages  of  Mongolia  or  to  the  hermits  on  Lebanon.  I  longed 
for  interviews  with  the  Llamas  of  Tibet  or  with  the  padres 
of  i^ortugal,  and  I  would  gladly  sit  with  the  priests  of  the 
Parsis  and  the  learned  of  the  Zendavesta.  I  was  sick  of  the 
learned  of  my  own  land.' 

He  became  the  intimate  friend  and  adviser  of  Akbar,  and 
helped  him  in  his  tolerant  system  of  government.  Professor 
Blochmann  writes  '  Impressed  with  a  favourable  idea  of  the 
value  of  his  Hindu  subjects,  he  (Akbar)  had  resolved  when 
pensively  sitting  in  the  evenings  on  the  solitary  stone  at 
Futehpur-Sikri  to  rule  with  an  even  hand  all  men  in  his 
dominions;  but  as  the  extreme  views  of  the  learned  and 
the  lawyers  continually  urged  him  to  persecute  instead  of 
to  heal,  he  instituted  discussions,  because,  believing  him- 
self to  be  in  error,  he  thouglit  it  his  duty  as  ruler  to 
inquire.'  'These  discussions  took  place  every  Tlu'rsday  night 
in  the  Ibadat-khana  a  building  at  Futehpur-Sikri,  erected  for 
the  purpose'  (Malleson). 


i 

■I 


K'-i 


^i 


42 


NOTES    TO  AK BAR'S  DREAM 


In  these  discussions  Abul  Fazl  became  a  great  power,  and 
he  induced  the  chief  of  the  disputants  to  draw  up  a  docu- 
ment defining  the  '  divine  Faith  '  as  it  was  called,  and  assign- 
ing to  Akbar  the  rank  of  a  Mujahid,  or  supreme  khalifah,  the 
vicegerent  of  the  one  true  God, 

Abul  Fazl  was  finally  murdered  at  the  instigation  of  Akbar's 
',jn  Saiim,  who  in  his  Memoirs  declares  that  it  was  Abul 
Fazl  who  had  perverted  his  father's  mind  so  that  he  denied 
the  divine  mission  of  Mahomet,  and  turned  away  his  love 
from  his  son. 

Faizi,  When  Vkbar  conquered  the  North-West  Provinces 
of  India,  Faizi,  then  20,  began  his  life  as  a  poet,  and  earned 
his  living  as  a  physician.  He  is  reported  to  have  been  very 
generous  and  to  have  treated  the  poor  for  n-./aiing.  His 
fame  reached  Akbar's  ears  who  commanded  him  to  come  to 
the  camp  at  Chitor.  Akbar  was  delighted  with  his  varied 
knowledge  and  scholarship  and  macr^  the  poet  teacher  to  his 
sons.  Faizi  at  33  was  appointed  Chief  Poet  (1588).  He 
collected  a  fine  library  of  4300  MSS.  and  died  at  the  age  of 
40  (1595)  when  Akbar  incorporated  his  collection  of  rare 
books  in  the  Imperial  Library. 


The  Warring  World  of  Hindostan.  Akbar's  rapid  con- 
quests and  the  good  government  of  his  fifteen  provinces  with 
their  complete  military,  civil  and  political  systems  make  him 
conspicuous  among  the  great  kings  of  history. 

The  Goan  Padre.     Abul  Fazl   relates  that  *  one    night  the 


NOTES    TO  AKBAK'S  DREAM 


43 


Ibadat-khana  was  brightened  by  the  presence  of  Padre  Ro- 
dolpho,  who  for  intelligence  and  wisdom  was  unrivalled 
among  Christian  doctors.  Several  carping  and  bigoted  men 
attacked  him  and  this  afforded  an  opportunity  for  the  dis- 
play of  the  calm  judgment  and  justice  of  the  assembly. 
These  men  brought  forward  the  old  received  assertions,  and 
did  not  attempt  to  arrive  at  truth  by  reasoning.  Their 
statements  were  torn  to  pieces,  and  they  were  nearly  put  to 
shame,  when  they  began  to  attack  the  contradictions  of  the 
Gospel,  but  they  could  not  prove  their  assertions.  With  per- 
fect calmness,  and  earnest  conviction  of  the  truth  he  replied 
to  their  arguments.' 


.    *vl 


!i| 


Abi'i  Sa^hi.  '  Love  is  the  net  of  Truth,  Love  is  the  noose 
of  God  '  is  a  quotation  from  the  great  Sufee  poet  Abd  Sa'td 
—  born  A.D.  968,  died  at  *he  age  of  83.  He  is  a  mystical 
poet,  and  some  of  his  expressions  have  been  compared  to  our 
George  Herbert.  Of  Shaikh  Abft  Sa'td  it  is  recorded  that 
he  said,  '  when  my  affairs  had  reacht  a  certain  pitch  I  buried 
under  the  dust  my  books  and  opened  a  shop  on  my  own 
account  {i.e.  began  to  teach  with  authority),  and  verily  men 
represented  mc  as  that  which  I  was  not,  until  it  came  to  this, 
that  they  went  to  the  Qadht  and  testified  against  me  of  unbe- 
lieverhood;  and  women  got  upon  the  roofs  and  cast  unclean 
things  upon  me.'  ( Vide  reprint  from  article  in  National 
Review,  March,   1891,  by  C.  J.  Pickering.) 


V        f 


Aziz,     I   am   not   aware   that  there    is  any  record  of  such 


44 


NOTES    TO  AK BAR'S  DREAM 


m 


U        '  \ 


I: 


■  i  ,v 


"I 


fi 


1 1 


intrusion  upon  the  kind's  privacy,  l)ut  the  expressions  in 
the  text  occur  in  a  letter  sent  by  Akl)ar's  foster-ljrother 
Aziz,  who  refused  to  come  to  court  when  summoned  and 
threw  up  his  government,  and  '  after  writing  an  insolent  and 
reproachful  letter  to  Akbar  in  which  he  asked  him  if  he  had 
received  a  book  from  heaven,  or  if  he  could  work  miracles 
like  Mahomet  that  he  presumed  to  introduce  a  new  religion, 
warned  him  that  he  was  on  the  way  to  eternal  perdition,  and 
concluded  with  a  prayer  to  God  to  bring  him  back  into  the 
path  of  salvation'  (Klphinstone). 

'The  Koran,  the  Old  and  New  Testament,  and  the  Psalms 
of  David  arc  called  /'oo/cs  by  way  of  excellence,  and  their 
followers  "People  of  the  Book"'  (Elphinstone). 

Akbar  according  to  Abdel  Kadir  had  his  son  Murad 
instructed  in  the  (iospel,  and  used  to  make  him  begin  his 
lessons  '  In  the  name  of  Christ '  instead  of  in  the  usual  way 
'  In  the  name  of  God.' 

To  drive 
A  people  from  their  ancient  fold  of  Truth,  etc. 

jMalleson  says  '  This  must  have  happened  because  Akbar 
states  it,  but  of  the  forced  conversions  I  have  found  no 
record.  This  must  have  taken  place  whilst  he  was  still  a 
minor,  and  whilst  the  chief  authority  was  wielded  by  Bairam.' 

'  /  reap  no  revenue  from  the  field  of  unbelief  ' 
The   Hindus   are    fond    of   pilgrimages,   and    Akbar   removed 


NOTES    TO  A  A' BAR'S  DA'EAM 


45 


a  remunerative  tax  raised  by  his  predecessors  on  pilgrimages. 
He  also  abolished  the  fezza  or  capitation  tax  on  those  who 
differed  from  the  Mahomedan  faith.  He  discouraged  all 
excessive  prayers,  fasts  and  pilgrimages. 


Sati.  Akbar  decreed  that  every  v^'idovv  who  showed  the 
least  desire  not  to  be  burnt  on  her  husband's  funeral  pyre, 
should  be  let  go  free  and  unharmed. 

Baby-wife.     He  forbad  marriage  before  the  age  of  puberty. 

Indian  widow.  Akbar  ordained  that  remarriage  was 
lawful. 


\. 


^i 


Mtisic.  '  Abi  it  a  watch  before  daybreak,'  says  Abul  Fazl, 
the  musicians  played  to  the  king  in  the  palace.  *  His  Majesty 
had  such  a  knowledge  of  the  science  of  music  as  trained 
musicians  do  not  possess.' 

'  77ie  Divine  Faith.''  The  Divine  Faith  slowly  passed 
away  under  the  immediate  successors  of  Akbar.  An  idea 
of  what  the  Divine  Faith  was  may  be  gathered  from  the 
inscription  at  the  head  of  the  poem.  The  document  referred 
to,  Abul  Fazl  says  'brought  about  excellent  results  (i)  the 
Court  became  a  gathering  place  of  the  sages  and  learned  of 
all  creeds;  the  good  doctrines  of  all  religious  systems  were 
recognized,  and  their  defects  were  not  allowed  to  obscure 
their  good  features;     (2)  perfect  toleration  or  peace  with  all 


■('! 


u 


^^ 


t   i 


46 


NOTES   TO  AK BAR'S  DREAM 


i 


■■/'     ' 


was  established;  and  (3)  the  perverse  and  evil-minded  were 
covered  with  shame  on  seeing  the  disinterested  motives  of 
His  Majesty,  and  these  stood  in  the  pillory  of  disgrace.' 
Dated  September   1579 — Ragab  987  (Blochmann  xiv.) 


THE    BANDIT'S   DEATH 


'M 


( 1 ' 


t 


i?' 


..1 


■-'I 


TO   SIR   WALTER   SCOTT » 

O   GREAT   AM)   GALLANT   Sco  IT, 

True  gentleman  heart,  blood  and  bone, 

i  would  it  had  been  my  lot 

to  have  seen  thee,  and  heard  thee,  and  known. 


t 

1 

i 


^  I  have  adopted  Sir  Walter  Scott's  version  of  the  following 
story  as  given  in  his  last  journal  (Death  of  II  Bizarro)  —  but  I 
have  taken  the  Uberty  of  making  some  slight  alterations. 


(( 


i 


THE   BANDIT'S   DEATH 

Sir,  do  you  see  this  dagger?  nay,  why  do  you  start 
aside? 

I  was  not  going  to  stab  you,  tho'  I  am  the  Bandit's 
bride. 

You  have  set  a  price  on  his  head  :    I  may  claim  it 

without  a  lie. 
What    have    I    here    in    the    cloth?     I    will    show   it 

you  by-and-by. 

Sir,  I  was  once  a  wife.      I    had   one   brief  summer 


of  bliss 


.     % 


i 


Copyright,  1892,  by  Macniillan  &  Co.  49 


k 


i: 


■1 


M 

j  I' 


50 


T//E  BANDIT'S  DEATH 


K.  \ 


But    the    Bandit    had    vvoo'd    me    in    vain,    and    he 
siabb'd  my  Piero  with  this. 


And   he   dragg'd   me   up   there  to  his  cave   in   the 

mountain,  and  there  one  day 
He    had   left   his   dagger  behind  him.     I    found    it. 

I  hid  it  away. 


For   he   reek'd  with  the  blood  of  Piero;   his  kisses 

were  red  with  his  crime. 
And   I    cried    to   the  Saints    to    avenge    me.     They 

heard,  they  bided  their  time. 


In   a   while    I    bore    him    a   son,   and   he   loved   to 

dandle  the  child, 
And   that   was   a   link   between  l..s  ;    but   I  —  to   be 


*  t 


reconciled  ?  — 


he 


THE  BANDIT'S  DEATH  51 

No,  by  the  Mother  of  God,  tho'  I  think  I   hated 

him  less, 
And  — well,  if  I  sinn'd   last   night,  I   will  find   the 

Priest  and  confess. 


Listen  !    we    three   were   alone   in   the    dell  at   the 

close  of  the  day. 
I  was  lilting  a  song  to  the  babe,  and  it  laugh'd  like 

a  dawn  in  May. 


t 


M   I'li 


Then   on  a  sudden   we   saw   your   soldiers   crossing 

the  riclge, 
And   he   caught   my   little   one   from   me :    we   dipt 

down  under  the  bridge 


ti 


By  the  great  dead  pine  —  you  know  it  —  and  heard, 
as  we  crouch'd  below, 


X. 


I» 


THE  BANDIT'S  DEATH 


The  clatter  of  arms,  and  voices,   and    men  passing 


to  and  fro. 


^*; 


Black  was  the  night  when  we   crept   away  —  not   a 

star  in  the  sky  — 
Hush'd  as  the  heart  of  the  grave,  till  the  little  one 

utter'd  a  cry. 


I   whisper'd   'give    it    to    me,'    but    he    would    not 


answer  me  —  then 


He   gript   it   so   hard   by   the   throat   that   the    boy 
never  cried  again. 


We  return'd  to  his   cave  —  the   link  was   broken  — 

he  sobb'd  and  he  wept, 
And  cursed  himself;  then  he  yawn'd,  for  the  wretch 

could  sleep,  and  he  slept 


THE  BANDIT'S  DEATH 


53 


Ay,   till   dawn   stole   into   the   cave,  and   a  ray  red 

as  blood 
Glanced  on  the  strangled  face  —  I  could  make  Sleep 

Death,  if  I  would  — 


Glared  on  at  the  murder'd  son,  and  the  murderous 

father  at  rest,  ... 
I  drove  the  blade  that  had  slain  my  husband  thrice 


thro'  his  breast. 


:IJ 


boy 


He  was  loved  at  least  by  his  dog :    it  was  chain'd, 

but  its  horrible  yell 
'She  has  kill'd  him,  has  kill'd  him,  has  kill'd  him' 

rang  out  all  down  thro'  the  dell, 


Till  I  felt  I  could  end   myself  too  with  the  dagger 


—  so  deafen'd  and  dazed  — 


i> 


* 


54 


THE  BANDIT'S  DEATH 


u. 


Take  it,  and  save  me  from  it !     I  fled.     I  was  all 


but  crazed 


With   the  grief  that  gnaw'd   at   my  heart,  and  the 

weight  that  dragg'd  at  my  hand ; 
But   thanks   to  the   Blessed  Saints  that  I  came  on 

none  of  his  band; 


I 


And   the   band  will   be   scatter'd   now  their  gallant 

captain  is  dead, 
For  I  with  this  dagger  of  his  —  do  you  doubt  me  ? 


Here  is  his  head  ! 


as  all 


d  the 


e  on 


allant 


THE  CHURCH-WARDEN  AND 
THE  CURATE 


me? 


i 


iii 


THE  CHURCH-WARDEN  AND  THE 


CURATE 


This  is  writte'.i  in  the  dialect  which  was  current  in  my 
youth  at  Spilsby  and  in  the  country  about  it. 


Eh?    good    daay!    good    daay !    thaw  it  bean't   not 

mooch  of  a  daay, 
Nasty,  casselty  weather  !    an'    mea   haafe   down  wi' 


my  haay  ! 


57 


iK--    ..  .». 


58 


CIWKLH-WARDEN  AND   CURATE 


II 


How   be  the    farm   gittin   on?   noiiways.     Gittin   on 


i'deeiid  ! 


Why,  tonups  was  haiife  on  'em  fingers  an'  toas,  an' 
the  mare  brokken-kneead, 

An'  pigs  didn't  sell  at  fall,  an'  wa  lost  wer  Hal- 
deny  cow, 

An'  it  beats  ma  to  knaw  wot  she  died  on,  but  wool's 
looking  oop  ony  how. 


Ill 


An'  soa  they've  maade  tha  a  parson,  an'  thou'U  git 

along,  niver  fear. 
Fur   I    bean   chuch-warden  mysen  i'   the  parish  fur 

fifteen  year. 


CHURCH-WARDEN  AND   CURATE 


59 


Well  —  sin    ther    bea   chuch-wardens,    iher   mun    be 

parsons  an'  all, 
An'  if  t'one  stick  alongside  t'uther  the  chuch  weant 

happen  a  fall. 


IV 


Fur  I  wur  a  Baptis  wonst,  an'  agean  the  toithe  an' 

the  raate, 
Till   I   fun  that   it  vvarn't   not   the   gaainist  waay  to 


the  narra  Gaate. 


An'    I    can't   abear    'em,   I   can't,  fur  a  lot  on   'em 

coom'd  ta-year  — 
I   wur  down  wi'   the   rheumatis  then  —  to  my  pond 


to  wesh  thessens  theere 


Sa  I   sticks  like  the   ivin  as  long  as   I  lives  to  the 
owd  chuch  now, 


f 


60 


CHURCH -WARDEN  AND    CURATE 


\S 


Fur  they  wesh'd  their  sins  i'  my  pond,  an'  I  doubts 
they  poison'd  the  cow. 


Ay,    an'    ya    seed    the    Bishop.      They    says    'at    he 


coom'd  fra  nowt 


Burn    i'    traiide.      Sa  I  warrants  'e  niver  said   haafe 


wot  'e  thowt. 
But  'e  creeiipt  an'  'e  crawl'd  along,  till  'e  feeald  'e 

could  howd  'is  oan, 
Then   'e   married   a   great  Yerl's   darter,  an'  sits   o' 

the  Bishop's  throan. 


VI 


Now    I'll   gie    tha   a    bit  o'  my  mind  an'  tha  weant 
be  taiikin'  offence. 


CHURCH-WARDEN  AND    CURATE 


6i 


Fur    thou    be    a   big    scholard  now  wi'   a    hoonderd 


haacre  o'  sense  — 


But  sich   an   obstropulous   lad  —  naiiy,  naay  —  fur   I 

minds  tha  sa  well, 
Tha'd  niver  not  hopple  thy  tongue,  an'  the  tongue's 

sit  afire  o'  Hell, 
As  I  says  to  my  missis  to-daiiy,  when   she   hurl'd  a 

plaiite  at  the  cat 
An'    anoother   agean    my   noase.     Ya    was    niver   sa 


bad  as  that. 


vn 


But    I    minds  when  i'  Howlaby  beck   won   daily   ya 

was  ticklin'  o'  trout, 
An'  keeiiper  'e  seed  ya  an  roon'd,  an'  'e  beal'd    to 

ya  '  Lad  coom  bout ' 


^ 


CHURCH-WARDEN  AND  CURATE 


V 


r^ 


An'  ya  stood  oop  maakt  i'  the  beck,  an'  ya  tell'd 

'im  to  knaw  his  awn  plaace 
An'  ya  call'd  'im  a  clown,  ya   did,  an'  ya   thraw'd 

the  fish  i'  'is  faace. 
An'  'e  torn'd  as  red  as  a  stag-tuckey's  wattles,  but 


theer  an'  then 


}> 


I  coamb'd  'im  down,  fur  I  promised  ya'd  niver  not 
do  it  agean. 


i\ 


VIII 


An'  I  cotch'd  tha  wonst   i'  my  garden,  when   thou 

was  a  height-year- howd, 
An'  I  fun  thy  pockets  as  full  o'  my  pippins  as  iver 

they'd  'owd, 
An'  thou  was  as  peiirky  as  owt,  an'  tha  maade   me 

as  mad  as  mad, 


CHURCH-WARDEN  AND   CURATE 


63 


But   I   says   to   tha  *  keeap   'em,   an'   welcome '   fur 


thou  was  the  parson's  lad. 


DC 


thou 


An'  Parson  'e  'ears  on  it  all,  an'  then  taiikes  kindly 

to  me, 
An'   then    I   wur   chose    Chuch-warden    an'   coom'd 

to  the  top  o'  the  tree, 
Fur  Quoloty's  hall  my  friends,  an'  they  maakes  ma 

a  help  to  the  poor. 
When  I  gits  the  plaate  fuller  o'  Soondays  nor  ony 

chuch-warden  afoor, 
Fur  if  iver  thy  feyther  'ed  riled   me   I    kep'  mysen 

nieeiik  as  a  lamb, 
An'  saw  by  the  (iraiice  o'  the   Lord,  Mr.   Harry,   I 

ham  wot  I  ham. 


64 


church-wardemV  and  curate 


But  Parson  'e  7i'i7l  speak  out,  saw,  now  'e  be  sixty- 


seven, 


% 

i    Si.     • 


He'll  niver  swap  Owlby  an'  Scratby  fur  owt  but  the 

Kingdom  o'  Heaven  ; 
An'  thou'U  be  'is  Curate  'ere,  but,  if  iver  tha  means 

to  git  'igher, 
Tha  mun  tackle  the  sins  o'  the  Wo'ld,  an'  not  the 

faults  o'  the  Scjuire. 
An'   I  reckons  tha'll  light  of  a  livin'  somewheers  i' 

the  Wovvd  or  the  Fen, 
If  tha  cottons  down  to  thy  betters,  an'  keeaps  thy- 

sen  to  thysen. 
IJut  niver  not  speiik  plaain  out,  if  tha  wants  to  git 

forrardb  a  bit, 
But  creeap  along  the  hedge-bottoms,  an'  thou'U  be 


a  Bishop  yit. 


CHURCH -WARDEN  AND   CURATE 


H 


XI 


Naiiy,    but    tha    mun    speiik    hout    to    the    Baptises 

here  i'  the  town, 
P'ur  moast  on   'cm   talks   agean   tithe,    an'    I'd    hke 

tha  to  preach  'em  down, 
Fur  thefyQ  been  a-preachin'  mca  down,  they  heve, 

an'  1  haates  'em  iiow. 
Fur  they  leaved  their  nasty  sins  i'   my  pond,  an'  it 

poison'd  the  cow. 


I\ 


I 


GLOSSARY 


fi 


i\ 


tt 


pi 

r   ' 


'  Casselty,'  casualty,  chance  weather. 

'  Haafe  down  wi'  my  haiiy,'  while   my  grass  is  only  half- 
mown. 

*  Fingers  an'  toas,'  a  disease  in  turnips. 
'  Fall,'  autumn. 

*  If  t'one   stick   alongside   t'uther,'  if  the  one  hold  by  the 
other.     One  is  pronounced  like  '  own.'  ^ 

*  Fun,'  found. 
'Gaainist,'  nearest. 

*  Ta-year,'  this  year. 

*  Ivin,'  ivy. 

*  Obstropulous,'   obstreperous  —  here   the    Curate    makes   a 
sign  of  deprecation. 

*  Hopple '   or  *  hobble,'  to   tie    the   legs   of  a  skittish   cow 
when  she  is  being  milked. 

'  Heal'd,'  bellowed. 

In  such  words  as  '  torned,'  '  turned,'  *  hurled,'  the  r  is  hardly 
audible. 

*  Stag-tuckey,'  turkey-cock. 

'  Height-year-howd,'  eight-year-old. 
« 'Owd,'  hold. 
'  Pearky,'  pert. 

*  Wo'ld,'  the  world.     Short  o. 

*  VVowd,'  wold. 

66 


ly  half- 


by  the 


nakes   a 
ish   cow 


is  hardly 


CHARITY 


((:- 


i 
I 


i 


HiiWiH    faiiw 


CHARITY 


What   am    I    doing,   you    say  to   m**,  * ..  isting   the 


sweet  summer  hours  '  ? 


Haven't  you  eyes  ?     I  am  dressii  ^   the  grave  of  a 


woman  with  flowers. 


II 

For    a    woman    min'd    the    world,   as    God's    own 

scriptures  tell, 
And   a   man   ruin'd  mine,  but  a  woman,  God   bless 

her,  kept  me  from  Hell. 

Copyright,  1892,  by  Mucniillan  &  Co.  69 


.»•■»..-.*,.-■    ia    ««     .*»■        #       ..»    ,«t.    .*.v5    ^^ 


;■ 


70 


CHARITY 


III 


Love  nie  ?     O  yes,  no  doubt  —  how  long  —  till  you 


threw  me  aside  ! 


i} 


Dresses  and  laces  ami   jewels  and  never  a  ring  for 


the  bride. 


IV 


All  very  well  just  now  to  be  calling  me  darling  and 


i  I 


?» 


il. 


sweet, 


And    after  a  while    would    it   matter   so    much   if  I 


came  on  the  street? 


W 


You  when  I  met  you  first  —  when  he  brought  you  I 

—  I  turn'd  away 
And    the   hard   blue  eyes  have  it  still,  that  stare  of 


a  beast  of  prey. 


'A. 


mlmmmmi^0L 


■  ^  ■  f  ■-■  •  • 


»"**  ■ ;/  -.nsw 


CHARITY 


71 


VI 

You  were  his  friend  —  you  —  you  —  when  he  prom- 
ised to  make  me  his  bride, 

And  you  knew  that  he  meant  to  betray  me  —  you 
knew  —  you  knew  that  he  Hed. 


/•I 
t  ■  1 


ill 


vn 

He  married  an  heiress,  an  orphan  with  half  a  shire 

of  estate,  — 
I    sent   him    a   desolate   wail   and   a   curse,  when  I 

learn'd  my  fate. 


VIII 


For  I  used  to  play  with  the  knife,  creep  down  to 
the  river-shore, 

Moan  to  myself  '  one  plunge  —  then  quiet  for  ever- 
more.' 


'« 

I 


7« 


CHARITY 


IX 


' 


Would  the  man  have  a  touch  of  remorse  when    he 


heard  what  an  end  was  mine? 


Or   brag   to   his   fellow  rakes   of  his   conquest  over 


their  wine? 


t! 


'    i 


Money  —  my  hire  —  his  money  —  I  sent   him   back 

what  he  gave,  — 
Will  you  move  a  little  that  way?   your  shadow  falls 

on  the  grave. 


XI 


Jl 


Two  trains  clash'd  :    then  and  there  he  was  crush'd 


in  a  moment  and  died^ 
But  the  new-wedded  wife  was  unharm'd,  tho'  sitting 


close  at  his  side. 


CHARITY 


73 


XII 


She  found  my  letter  upon  him,  my  wail  of  reproach 

and  scorn ; 
I  had  cursed  the  woman  he  married,  and  him,  and 

the  day  I  was  born. 


^11 


XIII 


They  put  him  aside  for  ever,  and  after  a  week  —  no 


more  — 


A  stranger  as  welcome  as  Satan  —  a  widow  came  to 
my  door ; 


XIV 


So  I  turn'd  my  face  to  the  wall,  I  was  mad,  I  was 

raving-wild, 
J   was  close  on  that  hour  of  dishonour,  the  birth  of 


a  baseborn  child. 


74 


CHARITY 


XV 


h 


O  you  that  can  flatter  your  victims,  and  juggle,  and 

lie  and  cajole, 
Man,  can  you  even  guess  at  the  love  of  a  soul  for 

a  soul? 


XVI 


I   had   cursed   her  as  woman  and  wife,  and  in  wife 


and  woman  I  found 


The    tenderest   Christ- like   creature    that   ever  stept 


on  the  ground. 


XVII 


She  watcii'd   nie,  she   nursed   nie,  she  fed  me,   she 

sat  day  and  night  by  my  bed. 
Till  the  joyless  birthday  came  of  a  boy  born  happily 


\\S 


dead. 


CHARITY 


75 


XVIII 


And   her   name?   what   was   it?     I   ask'd    her.     She 


said  with  a  sudden  glow 
On  her  patient  face  *  My  dear,  I  will  tell  you  before 
I  go.' 


XIX 


And  I  when  I  learnt  it  at  last,  I  shriek'd,  I  sprang 

from  my  seat, 
I  wept,  and  I  kiss'd  her  hands,  I  flung  myself  down 

at  her  feet, 


1 1 

% 


XX 

And  we  pray'd    together   for  //////,  for  ///;//  who  had 

given  her  the  name. 
She   has    left   mc    enough    to   live   on.      T    need    no 

wnges  of  shame. 


^; 


r 


11   ',  I 


If- 


76 


ClIAKITY 


XX! 


She  died  of  a  fever  caught  when  a  nurse  in  a  hos- 
pital ward. 

She  is  high  in  the  Heaven  of  Heavens,  she  is  face 
to  face  with  her  Lord, 


xxri 


I 


I) 


K 


!»: 


And  He  sees  not  her  Hke  anywhere  in   this  pitiless 

world  of  ours  ! 
I  have  told  you   my  tale,      (iet   you   gone.      I  am 

dressing  her  grave  with  flowers. 


il' 


J 


KAPIOLANI 


Kapiolani  \va  a  great  chicftaiiiess  who  lived  in  the 
Sandwich  Islands  at  the  beginning  of  this  century. 
She  won  the  cause  of  Christianity  by  openly  defying  the 
priests  of  the  terrible  goddess  Peele.  In  spite  of  their 
threats  of  vengeance  she  ascended  the  volcano  Mauna- 
Loa,  then  clambered  down  over  a  bank  of  cinders  400 
feet  high  to  the  great  lake  of  lire  (nine  miles  round) 
—  Kilauea  —  the  home  and  haunt  of  the  goddess,  and 
flung  into  the  boiling  lava  the  consecrated  berries  which 
it  was  sacrileite  for  a  woman  to  handle. 


) 

^ 


f 


Wmkn    from   the   terrors   of   Nature   a   people    have 

fashion'tl  and  won  hip  a  Spirit  o*"  I'A'il, 
Hlest    be    the    Voice    of  the   Teacher   who   calls   to 


tlUMll 


'  Set  yourselves  free  !' 


n 


<ri 


78 


KAPWLANI 


% 


U 


Noble  the  Saxon  who  hurl'd  at  his   Idol  a  valorous 


weapon  in  olden  England 


dreat  and   greater,   and   greatest   of  women,    Island 


!     f( 


Vl 


heroine,  Kapiolani 
Clomb    the    mountain,    and    flung    the    berries,    and 
dared  the  Goddess,  and  freed  the  people 


Of  Hawa-i-ee  ! 


in 


A  people   believing   that   Peelc    the   (locUiess   would 


w 


\ 


wallow  in  fiery  riot  and  revel 
On  Kilauea, 
Dance   in   a   fountain   of  flame   with    her   devils,  or 


shake     with    her    thunders    and    shatter    her 


sK 


island. 
Rolling  her  anger 


i^ 


KAPIOLANI 


n 


Thro'  blasted  valley  and   flaring  forest  in  bbod-red 


cataracts  down  to  t';3  sea! 


IV 


i 


Ivong  as  the  lava-light 


Glares  from  the  lava-lake 


Dazing  the  starlight, 

Long  as  the  silvery  vapour  in  daylight 


Over  the  mountain 


Floats,  will  the  glory  of  Kapiolani  be  mingled  with 


either  on  Hawa-i-ee. 


What  said  her  Priesthood? 

'  Woe  to  this  island  if  ever  a  woman  should  handle 

or  gather  the  berries  of  Peele  ! 
Accursed  were  she  ! 


i 

i 


k 

:? 


8o 


KAPIOLANl 


\ 


M 


And   woe   to    this    island    if  ever   a  woman    should 


climb  to  the  dwelling  of  Peel^  the  Goddess  1 


Accursed  were  she  ! ' 


VI 


One  from  the  Sunrise 


Dawn'd  on  His  people,  and  slowly  before  him 


Vanish'd  shadow-like 


Gods  and  (Joddesses, 

None  hut  the  terrible  Peele  remaining  as  Kapiolani 

ascended  her  momitain, 
Haflfled  her  j)riesthood, 
iiroke  tlie  'I'aboo, 
Dipt  to  the  crater, 
Call'd  on  the  i'ower  adored   by  the  Christian,  antl 

crving  'I  dare  her,  let  Peelt;  avenge  herself!' 
Into  Ji.e  n.uTie  billow  dash'd  the   berries,  and  drove 


ti 


the  dt'i;  on  from  Hav/a-i-ee. 


«, 


•■M-'-.^fe^  £ 


upon  human  blood  ! 


•t 


1^! 


THE   DAWN 

"You  are  hxit  children.'" 

Egyptian  Priest  to  Solon. 


1 


Red  of  the  Dawn  ! 


Screams    of   a    babe    in    the    red-hot    palms    of   a 
Moloch  of  Tyre, 
Man  with  his  brotherless   dinner   on   man   in   the 

tropical  wood, 
Priests   in   the   name   of  the   Lord   passing  souls 
thro'  fire  to  the  fire, 
Head- hunters    and    boats    of    Dahomey    that    float 


i 

♦    I 

i 


v\ 


82 


77/A"  DAll'N 


II 


m 


;!' 


11 


t 


,r<'; 


Red  of  the  Dawn  ! 


(lodless    fury   of   peoples,   and    Christless    frolic    of 
kings, 
And   the  bolt   of  war   dashing   down   upon  cities 

and  blazing  farms. 
For   Babylon  was   a   child    new-born,    and    Rome 
was  a  babe  in  arms, 
And  London  and  Paris  and  all  the  rest  are  as    yet 
but  in  leading-strings. 


ni 


Dawn  not  Day, 
While  scandal  is  mouthing  a  bloodless  name  at  her 
cannibal  feast, 


THE  DAWN 


83 


And   rake-ruin'd   bodies   and   souls  go  down  in  a 

common  wreck, 
And  the  Press  of  a  thousand  cities  is  prized  for 
it  smells  of  the  beast, 
Or   easily  violates  virgin    Truth   for    a    coin    or    a 
cheque. 


I 


♦ 


i'.' 


IV 


Dawn  not  Day  ! 
Is  it  Shame,  so  few  should  have  climb'd  from  the 
dens  in  the  level  below, 
Men,  with   a   heart   and  a  soul,   no    slaves    of    a 


IV 


four-footed  will? 


But   if  twenty  million  of  summers  are  stored   in 
the  sunlight  still, 
We   are   far   from  the  noon   of  man,  there  is  time 


\ 


for  the  race  to  grow. 


THE  DAWN 


. «.  1  '      I 


h 


Red  of  the  Dawn  ! 


Is  it  turning  a  fainter  reel?  so  be  it,  but  when  shall 
we  lay 
The  Ghost  of  the  Brute  that  is  walking  and  haunt- 
ing us  yet,  and  be  free? 
In    a    hundred,   a    thousand    winters?    Ah,   what 
will  our  children  be. 
The  men  of  a  hundred  thousand,  a  million  summers 
away? 


V 


I 


I: 


h  v\ 


summers 


FHK   MAKING   OF   MAN 


Where  is  one  that,  born  of  woman,  altogether  can 


escape 


From  the  lower  world  within  him,  moods  of  tiger, 
or  of  ape? 
Man  as   yet   is  being  made,  and  ere  the  crown- 
ing Age  of  ages. 

Shall  not  ceon  after  aeon   pass  and  touch  him  into 
shape? 


3. 

i 


All   about   him   shadow   still,   but,  while    the    races 


flower  and  fade. 


85 


^:^.  ^'v: 


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23  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WnSTIR.N.Y.  14SW) 

(716)  •72-4S03 


'<^ 


86 


THE  MAKING    OF  MAN 


Prophet-eyes   may  catch  a  glory  slowly   gaining   on 
the  shade, 
Till  the  peoples  all  are  one,  and  all  their  voices 


blend  in  choric 


)  f 


Hallelujah    to   the   Maker   '  It   is   finish'd.      Man  is 


''  .;. 


r ..! 


made.' 


■».' 


ing  on 


H 


voices 


THE    DREAMER 


VI  an  is 


On    a    midnight    in    midwinter    when    all    but    the 

winds  were  dead, 
*  The  meek  shall  inherit  the   earth '  was  a  Scripture 

that  rang  thro'  his  head, 
Till   he   dream 'd   that   a   Voice   of  the    Earth   went 

« 

wailingly  past  him  and  said  : 


*  I  am  losing  the  light  of  my  Youth 
And  the  Vision  that  led  me  of  old, 
And  I  clash  with  an  iron  Truth, 
When  I  make  for  an  Age  of  gold, 
And  I  would  that  my  race  were  run, 
For    teeming    with    liars,    and    madmen,    and 


f 


knaves, 


87 


^t^'T' 


88 


THE  DREAMER 


And     wearied     of     Autocrats,     Anarchs,     and 
Slaves, 


And    darken'd    with    doubts    of    a    Faith    that 


saves, 


And    crimson    with    battles,    and    hollow    with 


graves, 


To   the   wail   of  my   winds,   and   the   moan   of 


my  waves 


I  whirl,  and  I  follow  the  Sun.' 


Was   it   only   the   wind   of    the    Night    shrilling   out 

Desolation  and  wrong 
Thro'  a  dream  of  the  dark?     Yet  he  thought  that 

he  answer'd  her  wail  with  a  song  — 


Moaning  your  losses,  O  Earth, 
Heart-weary  and  overdone  ! 


THE  DREAMER 


But  all's  well  that  ends  well, 
Whirl,  and  follow  the  Sun  ! 


He  is  racing  from  heaven  to  heaven 
And  less  will  be  lost  than  won, 

For  all's  well  that  ends  well, 
Whirl,  and  follow  the  Sun  ! 


The  Reign  of  the  Meek  upon  earth, 
O  weary  one,  has  it  begun? 

But  all's  well  that  ends  well, 
Whirl,  and  follow  the  Sun  ! 


89 


t 


;v 


For  moans  will  have  grown  sphere-music 

Or  ever  your  race  be  run  ! 
And  all's  well  that  ends  well. 

Whirl,  and  follow  the  Sun  ! 


I'M: 


MECHANOPHILUS 

(In  the  time  of  the  first  railways) 

Now  first  we  stand  and  understand, 
And  sunder  false  from  true, 

And  handle  boldly  with  the  hand, 
And  see  and  shape  and  do. 


Dash  back  that  ocean  with  a  pier, 

Strow  yonder  mountain  flat, 
A  railway  there,  a  tunnel  here. 


Mix  me  this  Zone  with  that ! 


Bring  me  my  horse  —  my  horse  ?  my  wings 

That  I  may  soar  the  sky, 
90 


MECHANorniL  us 


91 


For  Thought  into  the  outward  springs, 
I  find  her  with  the  eye. 


O  will  she,  moonlike,  sway  the  main, 
And  bring  or  chase  the  storm. 

Who  was  a  shadow  in  the  brain, 
And  is  a  living  form? 


i 
I 


M 


Far  as  the  Future  vaults  her  skies, 
From  this  my  vantage  ground 

To  those  still-working  energies 
I  spy  nor  term  nor  bound. 


t 


As  we  surpass  our  fathers'  skill, 

Our  sons  will  shame  our  own  ; 
A  thousand  things  are  hidden  still 


And  not  a  hundred  known. 


if 


■r^ — " • 

1 

;-            '    f 

92 

MECHANOPHILUS 

And 

had 

some  prophet 

spoken 

true 

ii   ' 


*  !];^; 


.1    ! 


Of  all  we  shall  achieve, 
The  wonders  were  so  wildly  new 


That  no  man  would  believe. 


Meanwhile,  my  brothers,  work,  and  wield 

The  forces  of  to-day, 
And  plow  the  Present  like  a  field, 

And  garner  all  you  may  ! 


You,  what  the  cultured  surface  grows. 
Dispense  with  careful  hands  : 

Deep  under  deep  for  ever  goes. 
Heaven  over  heaven  expands. 


^ield 


RIFLEMEN    FORM! 


There  is  a  sound  of  thunder  afar, 

Storm  in  the  South  that  darlvens  the  day  ! 


Storm  of  battle  and  thunder  of  war  ! 


Well  if  it  do  not  roll  our  way. 
Storm,  Storm,  Riflemen  form  ! 
Ready,  be  ready  against  the  storm  ! 
Riflemen,   Riflemen,  Riflemen  form  ! 


Be  not  deaf  to  the  sound  that  warns, 

Be  not  guU'd  by  a  despot's  plea ! 

Are  figs  of  thistles?  or  grapes  of  thorns? 

How  can  a  despot  feel  with  the  Free? 

93 


N 


* 


I 

I 


i 


\: 


94 


Kr/'/.F-.y/uV  /VRAf 


Form,  Form,  Riflemen  Form  ! 
Ready,  be  ready  to  meet  the  storm ! 
Riflemen,  Riflemen,  Riflemen  form  ! 


Let  your  reforms  for  a  moment  go  ! 

Look  to  your  butts,  and  take  good  aims  ! 

Better  a  rotten  borough  or  so 

Than  a  rotten  fleet  and  a  city  in  flames ! 

Storm,  Storm,  Riflemen  form  ! 

Ready,  be  ready  against  the  storm  ! 

Riflemen,  Riflemen,  Riflemen  form  ! 


' 


Form,  be  ready  to  do  or  die  ! 
Form  in  Freedom's  name  and  the  Queen's  1 
True  we  have  got  —  such  a  faithful  ally 
That  only  the  Devil  can  tell  what  he  means. 


RIl'LEMEX  FORM 


95 


Form,   Form,  Riflemen   Form  ! 
Ready,  be  ready  to  meet  the  storm  ! 
Riflemen,  Riflemen,  Riflemen  form  ! ' 


^  I  have  been  asked  to  republish  this  old  poem,  which  was 
first  published  in  '  The  Times,'  May  9,  1859,  before  the  Volun- 
teer movement  began. 


■i 


n's! 


%\ 


eans. 


I 


•i  t 


THE  TOURNEY 


Ralph  would  fight  in  Edith's  sight, 

For  Ralph  was  Edith's  lover, 
Ralph  went  down  like  a  fire  to  the  fight, 
Struck  to  the  left  and  struck  to  the  right, 


RoH'd  them  over  and  over. 


p  |i 


m 


'(lallant  Sir  Ralph,'  said  the  king. 


Casques  were  crack'd  and  hauberks  hack'd. 

Lances  snapt  in  sunder, 
Rang  the  stroke,  and  sprang  the  blood, 
Knights  were  thwack'd  and  riven,  and  hew'd 

Like  broad  oaks  with  thunder. 

*  O  what  an  arm,'  said  the  king. 
96 


kVSSlSMlft-    '•^     ♦'.V*    ->6.  «Il--».^':. 


I  ,*  .  ^,  rjif..^ 


THE    TOURNEY 


Edith  bow'd  her  stately  head, 

Saw  them  lie  confounded, 
Edith  Montfort  bow'd  her  head, 
Crown'd  her  knight's,  and  flush'd  as  red 

As  poppies  when  she  crown'd  it. 
'Take  her  Sir  Ralph,'  said  the  king. 


97 


\ 


V 


f  :li  '^ 


THE  bp:e  and  the  flower 


The  bee  buzz'd 


e  heat. 


I  am  faint  for  ^our  honey,  my  sweet.' 


I 


> 


3'  H    »■     I 
1    } 


The  flower  said  'Take  it  my  dear, 
For  now  is  the  spring  of  the  year. 


So  come,  come 


Hum 


I  ' 


And  the  l)ec  ImizzM  down  from  the  heat. 


And  the  bee  buzz'd  up  in  the  cold 

When  the  flower  was  wither'd  and  old. 
98 


1  { 


THE   BEE   AND    THE  FLOWER 


99 


'Have  you  still  any  honey,  my  dear?' 
She  said  '  It's  the  fall  of  the  year, 


But  come,  come  ! 


I ' 


Hum  ! ' 


And  the  bee  buzz'd  off  in  the  cold. 


i  5 


\ 


\\\ 


THE  WANDERER 


Thk  gleam  of  household  sunshine  ends, 
And  here  no  longer  can  I  rest; 
Farewell !  —  You  will  not  speak,  my  friends, 
Unfriendly  of  your  parted  guest. 


O  well  for  him  that  finds  a  friend. 
Or  makes  a  friend  where'er  he  come, 
And  loves  the  world  from  end  to  end, 


And  wanders  on  from  home  to  home ! 
too 


THE    WANDERER 


lOI 


O  happy  he,  and  fit  to  live, 
On  whom  a  hapi)y  home  has  power 
To  make  him  trust  his  life,  and  give 
His  fealty  to  the  halcyon  hour! 

I  count  you  kind,  1  hold  you  true; 
But  what  may  follow  who  can  tell? 
Give  me  a  hand —  and  you  — and  you  — 
And  deem  me  grateful,  and  farewell  1 


^ 


ft 


I 


POETS  AND   CRITICS 


This  thing,  that  thing  is  the  rage, 
HeltPr-skelter  runs  the  age ; 


Minds  on  this  round  earth  of  ours 


8    i  ,  t 


Vary  hke  the  leaves  and  flowers, 

Fashion'd  after  certain  laws ; 
Sing  thou  low  or  loud  or  sweet, 
All  at  all  points  thoii  canst  not  meet. 
Some  will  pass  and  some  'vill  pause. 


What  is  true  at  last  will  tell : 
Few  at  first  will  place  thee  well ; 

102 


POETS  AND   CRITICS 


I01 


P 


Some  too  low  would  have  thee  shine, 
Some  too  high  —  no  fault  of  thine  — 

Hold  thine  own,  and  work  thy  will ! 
Year  will  graze  the  heel  of  year. 
But  seldom  comes  the  poet  here, 

And  the  Critic's  rarer  still. 


m 


f(^ 


i«. 


1 


\ 


u 


m 


A  VOICE   SPAKE   OUT  OF  THE   SKIES 


A  Voice  spake  out  of  the  skies 
To  a  just  man  and  a  wise  — 


The  world  and  all  within  it 


t  I 


Will  only  last  a  minute  ! ' 
And  a  l)eggar  began  to  cry 
*  Food,  food  or  I  die '  ! 


Is  it  worth  his  while  to  eat, 


u 


Or  mine  to  give  him  meat, 


If  the  world  and  all  within  it 


AVere  nothing  the  next  minute? 


104 


n 


DOUBT   AND   PRAYKR 


iff 


.•r 


Tho'  Sin  too  oft,  when  smitten  by  Thy  rod, 
Rail  at  *  Blind  Fate  '  with  many  a  vain  '  Alas  ! ' 
From  sin  thro'  sorrow  into  Thee  we  pass 
By  that  same  path  our  true  forefathers  trod ; 
And  let  not  Reason  fiiil  me,  nor  the  sod 
Draw  from  my  death  Thy  living  flower  and  grass. 
Before  I  learn  that  Love,  which  is,  and  was 


II.' 


m 


My  Father,  and  my  Brother,  and  my  (lod  ! 

105 


io6 


DOUBT  AND   PRAYER 


HI, 


f:'! 


Steel  me  with  patience!  soften  me  with  grief! 
Let  blow  the  trumpet  strongly  while  1  pray, 


Till  this  embattled  wall  of  unbelief 


My  prison,  not  my  fortress,  fall  away ! 
Then,  if  thou  wiliest,  let  my  day  be  brief, 
So  Thou  wilt  strike  Thy  glory  thro'  the  day. 


K" 


% 


i 


%  ' 


iry:. 


i:'^" 


FAITH 


MM 


Doubt    no    longer    that   the    Highest  is   the   wisest 

and  the  best, 
Let  not  all  that  saddens  Nature    blight  thy  hope  or 

break  thy  rest, 
Quail  not  at  the  fiery  mountain,  at  the  shipwreck, 

or  the  rolling 
'l^hunder,  or  the  rending  earthquake,  or  the  famine, 


or  the  pest ! 


;     i 

i     f  j 


il 


107 


io8 


FATTH 


II 


Neither  mourn  if  human  creeds  be  lower   than   the 


heart's  desire  ! 


Thro'  the  gates  that  bar  the  distance  comes  a  gleam 
of  what  is  higher. 
Wait  till  Death   has   flung   them   open,  when   the 


man  will  make  the  Maker 


Dark  no  more  with  human   hatreds  in  the   glare   of 


deathless  fire  ! 


m ' 


(    \ 

[ft  .r 


lU 


;l 


^an  the 


a  gleam 


len  the 


;lare   of 


THE   SILENT  VOICES* 


When  the  dumb  Hour,  clothed  in  black, 
Brings  the  Dreams  about  my  bed, 
Call  me  not  so  often  back, 
Silent  Voices  of  the  dead. 
Toward  the  lowland  ways  behind  me. 
And  the  sunlight  that  is  gone  ! 
Call  me  rather,  silent  voices, 
Forward  to  the  starry  track 
Glimmering  up  the  heights  beyond  me 
On,  and  always  on  ! 


'I 

'1 


*  Copyright,  1892,  by  Macmillan  &  Co. 


109 


(iOI)   AND   THE    UNIVKRSE 


Will  my  tiny  spark  of  being  wholly  vanish  in  your 

deeps  and  heights? 
Must  my  day  be  dark   bv   reason,  O   ye    Heavens, 

of  your  boundless  nights, 


!«   i 


Rush  of  Suns,  and   roll  of  systems,  and   your   fiery 


clash  of  meteorites? 


11 


'  Spirit,  nearing  yon  dark  portal  at  the  limit  of  thy 


human  state, 


no 


in  your 


eavens. 


r   fiery 


GOD  AND    THE    V XI VERSE 


III 


Fear    not   thou    the   hidden  purpose   of  that    Power 

which  alone  is  great, 
Nor  the  myriad  world,   His  shadow,  nor  the   silent 

Opener  of  the  (iate.' 


of  thy 


u- 


I  i 


THE    DEATH 


OF    THE 


DUKE   OF  CLARENCE   AND   AVONDALE 


ffo  tbe  Pounurs. 


The  bridal  garland  falls  upon  the  bier, 
The  shadow  of  a  crown,  that  o'er  him  hung, 
Has  vanish'd  in  the  shadow  cast  by  Death. 

So  princely,  tender,  truthful,  reverent,  pure  — 
Mourn !     That   a    world-wide    Empire    mourns   with 


you, 
iia 


DEATH  OF   THE  DUKE   OF  CLARENCE     113 


That  all  the  Thrones  are  clouded  by  your  loss, 
Were  slender  solace.     Yet  be  comforted ; 
For  if  this  earth  be  ruled  by  Perfect  Love, 
Then,  after  his  brief  range  of  blameless  days, 
The  toll  of  funeral  in  an  Angel  ear 
Sounds  happier  than  the  merriest  marriage-bell. 
The  face  of  Death  is  toward  the  Sun  of  Life, 


His  shadow  darkens  earth  :    his  truer  name 


Is  *  Onward,'  no  discordance  in  the  roll 
And  march  of  that  Eternal  Harmony 


i, 


Whereto  the  worlds  beat  time,  tho'  faintly  heard 
Until  the  great  Hereafter.     Mourn  in  hope  ! 


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iterature  from  the 
Vori  Tribune. 


YORK. 


